


Keep Calm and Let the Admin Assistant Handle It

by VikingSong



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Arthur is not in fact as oblivious as he seems, Bromance, Christmas, Coffee, F/M, Fluff, Good Morgana (Merlin), Humor, Light Angst, Protective Siblings, The Author Regrets Nothing, Uther Pendragon's A+ Parenting (Merlin), bad office coffee, because apparently I'm incapable of writing angst-free fic, my personal love letter to London, seriously there's so much coffee
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27898057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VikingSong/pseuds/VikingSong
Summary: Modern Mergana AU.  Merlin is the new admin assistant in the corporate office of Pendragon Enterprises, Morgana is a junior exec in marketing, and Arthur...well, Arthur's just technologically inept.  Merlin and Morgana initially bond over making fun of Arthur, but soon it becomes something more than that...Or: In which Morgana and Merlin drink a ridiculous amount of bad office coffee, Morgana fights the patriarchy, Arthur is oblivious (or is he?), and the author plays around with form and structure.T for themes/implied themes, just to be safe (frankly because Gwaine is, well, Gwaine). No slash, no smut, no profanity.
Relationships: Merlin/Morgana (Merlin)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 21





	1. Prologue

#  Prologue

Morgana Gorlois-Pendragon, junior executive of marketing, sat in her office on the 15th floor of Pendragon Enterprises in Canary Wharf, overlooking the lovely autumn colours in Canada Square Park. She had a report to prepare for Friday's board meeting—a comparative analysis of the efficacy of their various marketing campaigns for the past fiscal year—but it was a boring report and it was only Tuesday, after all. The view over the top of her MacBook, afforded by the modern glass walls of the offices which ringed the reception area of the executive suite, was much more interesting. Across from her open door, the new hire sat at the reception desk.

As she tried aimlessly to focus on her report, she heard the phone ring at the reception desk.

"Pendragon Enterprises, Merlin speaking. How may I help—oh, Mr Pendragon! Yes, sir, of course. I will be right there."

He dropped the phone back on the cradle and jumped to his feet, only to trip over the rolling chair he'd just vacated. His momentum sent him sprawling forward on a face-first collision course with the industrial carpet—but he caught himself at the last second on the edge of the reception desk with his elbow.

_Ouch_ , Morgana thought with a twinge of sympathy that felt suspiciously like a bruise, _That's going to leave a mark._

"Um, situation normal!" A disembodied voice from somewhere behind the desk and the jumper-clad elbow announced cheerfully to no one in particular.

Morgana couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth as the man righted himself before dashing off toward her half-brother's office, three doors down from hers.

The frosted glass sidewalls of the offices didn't afford nearly as nice a view. She could tell, though, from the body language of Arthur's silhouette that his day was not going particularly well...which meant that the new— _uh, that Merlin's_ —day was not going to go particularly well, either.

She sighed and went back to her report.

_None of_ _this_ _data_ _is_ _new or interesting, because we haven't actually tried anything new or interesting in the past five years._

Maybe she would just use all her fancy marketing and communications skills— _The posh degree had to be good for something, right?_ —to make her report interesting and compelling, even if the content inherently wasn't. _Maybe one day I'll actually get to make some decisions, get to try something new._

With a furtive glance at the stodgy execs in the offices on either side of hers, she opened a different file on her computer—the file where she'd been compiling all the ideas she had for new marketing campaigns that she'd probably never even get to pitch. While being the daughter of the CEO meant a nice salary and job security fresh out of uni a few years ago, she had been determined to prove that she was worthy of the job and not just there as office decoration.

_I refuse to be a 'sexy lamp with a post-it.'_

She'd used her birth name—Gorlois—exclusively; she'd showed up early and stayed late nearly every day. She'd even spent hours at the flat she shared with Arthur, curled up in her lounge in baggy jumpers and fuzzy socks, pouring over industry trend reports and doing extra research on competitors' marketing strategies. After three years, though, it had become clear to Morgana that her non-relative supervisors weren't particularly interested in whether or not she could really excel at the job. They seemed resigned to her continued presence in the role—she was the boss' daughter, after all—but apparently they'd decided from day one that it didn't mean they needed to take her seriously. She would always be the nepotism hire to them, no matter how hard she worked to prove herself.

It also meant that she got stuck with all the boring reports.

She had easily compiled all of the data and completed the in-depth analysis on Monday, so she had the rest of the week to work on the presentation because, despite asking for additional projects, this was all she'd been assigned—no, allowed—to work on this week.

She looked up as she heard Merlin returning from Arthur's office, looking significantly less chipper than before. Morgana glanced down again at her stupendously uninteresting report and her pipe-dream file of ideas, then back up at the reception desk. She might not have the power to fix her job problems, but she might be able to fix the damage her brother had evidently done to the new hire's first day. After all, turnover was expensive to the company—and there had been a lot of turnover in that particular role.

_I'd probably bail, too, if I had to report directly to Arthur._

She closed her laptop decisively and set out on her new quest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have seen those vinyl laptop decals which say something along the lines of "Be careful or you'll end up in my novel." Well, this fic is one of those times. I worked as an admin assistant for a few years after undergrad and each of the specific examples in this fic of Arthur’s tech ineptitude or his unreasonable office-equipment-related requests are drawn directly from my work experience—things I personally was told to do or fix. (Some of the examples have been modified to preserve anonymity or to translate the example from an American setting to a British one.)
> 
> This fic is also my personal love letter to London, which is very dear to my heart. Even though it’s been a decade since I was last there, I still miss it, especially between Bonfire Night and Christmas. I’ve tried to pour that longing and those memories into the texture of this fic. If you're a Londoner reading this and you see any details I've gotten wrong, I would really appreciate it if you could let me know in a comment so I can make corrections!
> 
> Disclaimers: I don't own Merlin, obviously. I do, however, have permission to use the customized 'Keep Calm' image. (Also, I drew/painted the illustrations for this fic, so please don't use or repost these illustrations without checking with me first, ok? Thanks!)
> 
> (Cross-posted from ff.net; originally posted on 08/11/2019.)


	2. Keep Calm and Let the Admin Assistant Handle It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is part of my playing-around-with-structure phase as a writer, so it contains a mix of short vignettes (drabbles or multiples of drabbles, i.e. exactly 200 or 300 words) and longer, traditional scenes. Line breaks indicate POV switches within a scene; cover-art logos indicate full scene breaks.

####  Tuesday, Week 1

"Ms Gorlois! How may I help you?"

A ' _Please, call me Morgana'_ was accompanied by a dazzling smile and a proffered hand.

Merlin was glad he was sitting down—he'd just gone weak in the knees.

* * *

"I wanted to say 'welcome' on your first day...and to apologize for Arthur."

He was cute when he was flustered, she decided. She dropped her voice conspiratorially.

"Arthur's brilliant at contract negotiation, but he lacks...tech skills."

She leaned comfortably against the reception desk.

"Last week, I had to explain the copier's 2-sided scan feature...twice."

She was rewarded with a brilliant smile.

####  Friday, Week 1

Morgana was looking forward to giving her report. Not the boring one, though she'd delivered it to the board that morning with much gusto and exquisite graphics. No, this daily report was _much_ more interesting.

"Morning, Merlin!" she said as she strolled up to the reception desk, two cups of bad office coffee in hand. "What's Arthur done today?"

He'd been understandably reticent, so she'd supplied the stories thus far: the heavy-duty-staples-in-the-standard-stapler snafu, the unplugged-Ethernet-cable emergency, and the network-printer-IP issue.

His stifled laughter had become the highlight of each day.

####  Wednesday, Week 4

Merlin tapped lightly on Morgana's open office door, two cups of bad office coffee in hand.

She looked up from her computer and smiled.

"Ok," he said slowly, knowing this might kill his job prospects but somehow not caring when she smiled at him like that, "I have a story."

* * *

 _Finally_ , she thought.

It had been well worth the wait.

"You actually had to explain how to use the highlight function in Word?"

"Yes," he wheezed through silent laughter.

"And how to switch colours?"

He nodded. "And then he asked me where I'd 'learned it all.'"

"What'd you say?"

"Google."

####  Monday, Week 6

Their 'daily reports' became increasingly uninhibited and their laughter harder to stifle. After a few judgmental glances from neighbouring execs, they'd relocated to the staff room by the coffee pot. It was a good thing, too, because today Merlin was dying of laughter.

_At least I'll die happy._

Their conspiratorial conversations were the highlight of his days—and frankly a large part of why he put up with Arthur's neediness.

Merlin gasped for air to finish his story; his sides ached from laughing so hard.

"Honestly—" Another gasping breath. "—It's a wonder he can even dress himself in the mornings!"

####  Tuesday, Week 9

"He actually did that?"

"Yes!" he confirmed. "He didn't understand why, when he copied a report printed on coloured coverstock—"

He gestured dramatically with one hand.

"—to _another_ sheet of coloured coverstock—"

He gestured even more dramatically with the other.

"—there was _always_ grey shading across the entire new copy."

"And then he—?" Morgana couldn't breathe.

Merlin snorted. "He _actually_ thought copying first to plain A4 paper, then copying _that_ , would solve the problem."

"That's my idiot brother for you," Morgana said, wiping away tears of laughter.

"Wait, your _brother_?"

 _Oh no_ , she thought, realizing what she'd just let slip.


	3. Let's Chat

####  Friday, Week 9

A new office chat message notification popped up on Merlin's computer screen. He eyed the blinking yellow icon suspiciously for a second before refocusing on his office supply inventory spreadsheet.

A second notification popped up.

 _Fine_ , he thought as he clicked on it and the chat window opened.

> **M_Gorlois:** Merlin, I'm sorry.  
>  **M_Gorlois:** I should have told you.

He knew what he wanted to ask; he'd been pondering it for the three days since he'd rushed, startled, from the staff room back to his desk.

It was the question he wanted to ask when he'd arrived at his desk early Wednesday morning to find a piping hot cup of bad office coffee on his desk with a post-it that simply said:

> _I'm sorry.  
> _ — _M_

It was the question he'd wanted to ask when she'd nearly run into him on Thursday as he'd schlepped a box of copy paper down the hallway. She'd looked at him hopefully but before he could find the right words, Arthur— _Mr Pendragon_ —had interrupted loudly from around the corner with a ' _Mer_ lin, the copier's jammed _again_.'

It was the question that might well get him fired for being so blunt to an exec— _Even a junior one_ —but after three painfully awkward days, he was beginning to think he was willing to risk it.

_And frankly, after the things I've said about Mr Pendragon to Morga—Ms Gorlois—over the past two months, it's a wonder I haven't been let go already._

He threw caution to the wind as he quickly typed his reply.

> **M_Emrys:** So, why didn't you?  
>  **M_Emrys:** Were you trying to get me in trouble?  
>  **M_Emrys:** Because I'd prefer to keep my head down and keep my job, if it's all the same to you.

The three dots bounced ominously on his chat screen as she typed a reply.

> **M_Gorlois** **:** No, I don't want to get you in trouble.  
>  **M_Gorlois:** Habit, honestly.

_And that's supposed to make me feel better, how, exactly?_ he wondered sarcastically as the little harbingers resumed their dance.

> **M_Gorlois** **:** I've tried really hard to be taken seriously here, and part of that means not name-dropping family connections.  
>  **M_Gorlois:** I work really hard to be really good at my job, but people write me off, treat me differently, when they realize I first got it b/c of who my father is.

He hadn't considered that side of things. He wasn't quite ready to let his guard down, but maybe she hadn't just been having fun at his expense.

> **M_Gorlois:** I'd assumed you'd figured it out by now...no matter what I do, people around here always do.  
>  **M_Gorlois** **:** And I was enjoying that you hadn't.

> **M_Emrys:** Hadn't what? Figured it out yet?

> **M_Gorlois** **:** No—hadn't treated me differently.

Merlin hesitated for just a moment before typing a slightly bitter reply.

> **M_Emrys:** And I'd been enjoying not being treated like a servant.

More round, bouncing portents of doom.

> **M_Gorlois** **:** Arthur—and anyone else who does—is wrong. They wouldn't last a day around here without you.

> **M_Emrys** **:** Please don't say things like that just because you feel bad. You don't owe me anything.

> **M_Gorlois:** I'm serious—I lived through the pre-Merlin era. I told you the horror stories.

> **M_Emrys** **:** Sure you're not just glad it's me instead of you who has to sort out Mr Pendragon's tech issues now?

> **M_Gorlois** **:** You have my undying gratitude ;)

More bouncing dots. Just then, a second office chat message notification popped up. _Speak of the devil._ He clicked on it.

> **A_Pendragon:** my phone has no dial tone  
>  **A_Pendragon:** come fix it

Merlin glanced at Arthur's schedule. _No conference calls for another two hours._ He picked up the receiver on his desk phone. _And my phone's working fine...so it's not the VoIP service provider._

> **M_Emrys:** Is it plugged in?

A pause. No dots leaping up and down in irritation. _You hadn't checked that before asking for help, had you?_ he thought as he clicked back to the first chat window. Ms Gorlois was still typing, apparently. A notification dinged from the second chat.

> **A_Pendragon:** yes idiot

> **M_Emrys:** Have you tried turning it off and turning it back on again?

> **A_Pendragon:** just come fix it  
>  **A_Pendragon:** now

A notification popped up, indicating Ms Gorlois had replied.

 _The prat can wait_ , Merlin thought as he clicked back to the first chat window.

> **M_Gorlois:** But seriously, Arthur doesn't know just how lucky he is that you're here fixing his problems and cleaning up his messes.  
>  **M_Gorlois** **:** The last four admins before you barely lasted a month each...he's the reason why.

Merlin rolled his eyes, even as he bit his lip to hide a wry smile.

> **M_Emrys:**...why does that not surprise me?

> **M_Gorlois** **:** But seriously, how can I make it up to you?

A crazy, brash, outrageous idea had just occurred to him. Before his better judgment could talk him out of it, he typed a reply.

> **M_Emrys** **:** Buy me a proper cup of coffee (not the bad office kind) and we'll call it even?  
>  **M_Emrys** **:** 2PM tomorrow?

His better judgment flailed about in panic, mimicking the bouncing dots as she typed her reply.

> **M_Gorlois** **:** Deal. Shoreditch Grind? :)


	4. A Date or Not a Date?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is sarcasm, flirting, and proper coffee (not the bad office kind).

####  Saturday, Week 9

He'd been sitting in Grind since half-one. Merlin would've been earlier, but he couldn't decide what one wears to not-exactly-a-date with not-exactly-one's-boss.

_This was a bad idea_ , he thought, drumming his fingers on the lacquered wood table. _Weeks of talking about Arthur's ineptitude, but I know next to nothing about_ _her_. Except that she crinkled her nose and threw back her head when she laughed; except that her smile was the highlight of his days.

Two o'clock approached.

He fidgeted, pulling a pen from his leather messenger bag to doodle on a napkin.

* * *

Morgana was running late.

_What does one wear to an apology-maybe-date with one's...whatever Merlin was, exactly?_

As the clock on the wall struck two, she stepped from the frosty winter afternoon into the cosy warmth of the busy coffee shop. Scanning the room, she spotted him at last—seated on a wood-and-metal chair at a square bistro table amidst a sea of hipsters. She wound her way around the tiny tables and counterculturally-clad patrons towards him. Bent over a paper napkin, tongue sticking out to one side in concentration, he was expertly shading a detailed sketch of an evergreen tree.

"So sorry I'm late!"

He looked up, startled, then a wide smile spread across his face. "Morgana!"

He moved to stand, but she waved a hand, flustered.

"No, please, don't get up," she said, dropping her heavy laptop bag beside his on the ground and sliding onto the wood-and-metal chair across the table from him. "I rather feel as though I owe you two coffees now instead of one!"

He laughed, capping his pen decisively and leaning over to drop it back into his bag.

"No, I think agreeing to this already counts as one coffee."

_Dang, he's smooth._ And this was maybe, definitely, sounding more and more like a Date— _capital D_ —after all. Now she felt sheepish about lugging her huge, overstuffed work bag along with her.

He had apparently noticed her decidedly un-date-like bag as well. He glanced up at her as he flipped the flap of his much more modest messenger bag shut.

"Planning on a bit of workaholism this afternoon?" His expression was teasing, but his eyes said something else.

Morgana laughed it off, unable to say the real reason aloud.

_A backup plan in case you didn't show._

"Oh, I just figured I'd squeeze in some work after our coffee—a change of scenery, I suppose."

He nodded sagely. "Workaholic, definitely." This time his smile reached his eyes.

He continued, "So now that's four things I know about you."

"What do you mean?"

_Where's he going with this?_

"Well, in addition to that," he said, counting off on his fingers as he spoke, "First, I know that your full surname is Gorlois- _Pendragon_ ; second, I can tell that you're frustrated with your job, although I don't fully know why— _yet._ " He emphasized the word pointedly before continuing, "And third, I know that we agree that your brother is a prat."

Morgana laughed and felt her tense shoulders relax. She returned the teasing—Or were they flirting now?—with ease.

"Well," she said, leaning forward slightly to rest an elbow on the table and raising one eyebrow ( _Not suggestively, no, of course not!_ ), "I know a few things about you, too."

"Like what?" he asked, head tilted slightly, as though issuing a challenge.

"One, you have a wicked sense of sarcasm—"

"—Me, really?" he feigned offence.

"—Two," she continued, "you're the only other person in the office who prefers the bad office coffee to tea every day; three, it's obvious that you're seriously overqualified for your position; and four, turns out you're a talented artist—I'd be willing to bet multiple coffees that you've had formal art training."

He glanced down at the paper napkin sketch. "It's pretty rubbish, actually," he said as he reached to crumple it up.

Morgana snatched it away; his hand closed on thin air.

"Don't! It's lovely," she insisted as she triumphantly spread it out on the table in front of her. "You've gotten the perspective and shadows just right—and, here, you've balanced the positive and negative space really effectively."

She glanced up to see his embarrassed blush as he crossed his arms and— _Sarcastically, of course_ —countered, "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were a professor of art in all your spare time."

"I'm certainly not," she said, "But I studied marketing and communications at university—and several of the branding and design lectures were joint requirements for the visual communications students as well. We revised together, so I saw a lot of their work—this is just as good."

"Ah, _vis-com_ ," he shrugged. "Fair enough—now you know five things about me."

"Where'd you study, then?"

He ducked his head slightly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I, uh...I have a BFA from UCL."

She stared at him. _That's one of the best art programmes in the country._

"Then whyever are you stocking copy paper and fixing Arthur's tech issues?"

"Ugh, don't remind me!" he said with an overly-dramatic eye roll.

"But seriously," Morgana said softly, afraid she'd hit upon a sore subject but too curious to drop it altogether, "You're obviously talented and well-trained, so how'd you end up at Pendragon Enterprises?"

He sat uncharacteristically still, his eyes fixed vacantly on the table. When he answered at last, he sounded younger, more vulnerable.

"I'd been working as a graphic designer for two years after uni—just contract work and freelancing—while building a portfolio and selling a few pieces," he said. "But then my dad died quite suddenly a little over a year ago."

"Oh, Merlin," Morgana breathed. "I'm so sorry."

His eyes flicked up to meet hers— _Had they always been that_ _blue_ _?_ —darkened and glazed with deep grief like window panes in a summer rainstorm. He gave a forced smile, then dropped his gaze back to the table.

"Continuing to be a 'starving artist' wasn't really an option at that point—I wanted a steady income to help my mum."

He picked at an invisible spot on the table as he continued.

"The easiest way to do that, quickly, was to start temping in admin roles. I figured if I could handle the whole Adobe Creative Cloud," he said with a self-abasing shrug, "then picking up office systems on the job couldn't be too difficult, really."

He leaned back in his chair and looked up at her again.

"I'd been temping on the third floor at Pendragon Enterprises for a couple weeks when the regular position on your floor opened up—with better pay and a benefits package."

"...And then Arthur made you show him the highlight feature in Word."

"Yeah," he sighed, "Yeah, he did."

They were both silent for a long moment...until Morgana realized that the table between them was still empty.

"Coffee!" she exclaimed. "I still haven't got you a coffee!"

She was relieved to see his expression genuinely brighten again as he laughed at her outburst.

"So," she said, absolutely refusing to get distracted by his laugh—or his eyes—or any further topic changes—at least until she'd procured the promised beverage, "What qualifies as a 'proper cup of coffee' to you?"

"Double espresso."

No hesitation whatsoever.

"Double espresso? This late in the day?"

"Double espresso," he confirmed. "The bitter nectar of productivity."

He leaned back in his chair.

"How else do you think I get so much done in a workday? Magic?"

"Fine, double espresso it is, then."

"And what's your poison?" he asked casually.

"Hmm, depends on the day," she said as she leaned over to dig her wallet out of her bag, "But today, I think a flat white sounds quite nice."

She glanced up from rummaging through her overstuffed bag as she heard the scraping sound of metal against wood. Merlin's chair stood empty; he was already halfway to the register.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A disclaimer that’s relevant for the rest of this fic: I'm not a visual artist/graphic designer. I have friends and acquaintances who are (who've intermittently taught me some cool stuff), and I am proficient at googling, but that's as far as my knowledge goes. All attempts at discussing art in this fic are my best attempts to extrapolate; if you catch any glaring inaccuracies, please do let me know in a comment so I can fix them! :)
> 
> To all the professionally-trained artists out there: I'm sorry, I'm trying. I'm confident that anyone who actually has a BFA in visual arts (from UCL or anywhere else) would do an far better job at creating the art described in this fic. I just got really excited about the multimedia possibilities when I went to cross-post this fic and decided that I really wanted it to have illustrations—so I made some myself! :) Also, please note that the chapters containing discussions of Merlin’s art were written months before I decided to add the illustrations, so I promise that I’m not actually trying to gratuitously compliment my own art every time someone compliments Merlin’s!


	5. Mulled Thoughts and Mulled Wine

####  Monday, Week 10

When Morgana arrived at the office on Monday, there was a manila envelope on her desk with a post-it on top.

> _M—  
> _ _National Gallery, then mulled wine  
> _ _Saturday, 4PM  
> _ _Fancy it?  
> _ — _M_

She opened the envelope and pulled out an A4 sheet of heavy sketch paper. She flipped it over, curious. It was an ink sketch of the Christmas tree in Trafalgar Square.

When Arthur next summoned Merlin, she left a post-it on Merlin's desk:

> _M—  
> _ _I'd quite like that.  
> _ _(But this time I'm paying)  
> _ — _M_

When she returned from lunch, there was another post-it waiting for her:

> _Deal.  
> _ — _M_

####  Saturday, Week 10

"So," Morgana said carefully as they sipped mulled wine in the midst of the bustle and holiday lights of Covent Garden, "You showed me your favourite paintings at the gallery—do you paint as well?"

She itched to know more about this fascinating side he hid during office hours.

_But I don't want to step on another landmine—not like last time._

"A bit," he admitted, "Mostly mixed media, but I prefer ink or charcoal, to be honest."

"I'd love to see some of your work sometime—if you wouldn't mind, that is?"

She hoped she wasn't pushing her luck.

* * *

He could tell she was sincere—not the way his parents' friends had politely feigned interest when his mother had gushed enthusiastically to anyone and everyone about her son, the _artist_.

 _She actually wants to see my work_ , he thought, a bit surprised by just how much he wanted to show her and how suddenly afraid he was that she wouldn't like any of it.

Another crazy, brash, outrageous idea occurred to him. He took a bracing swallow of his mulled wine.

"My portfolio's at my flat—we could go back to mine if you'd like to see it now?"

* * *

Morgana wasn't sure what she'd been thinking when she'd said yes so quickly.

 _Scratch that_ , she thought, _I know exactly what I was thinking._

Just paintings, sketches, _art_ —nothing more.

She gripped the Tube car's overhead handrail harder than was strictly necessary.

_I just hope that's all he's thinking, too._

* * *

Merlin wasn't sure what he'd been thinking.

 _You idiot_ —y _ou know exactly what you were thinking_.

Just about sharing his art with _her_ —nothing more.

He glanced down at her, then nodded toward the car's Jubilee Line diagram.

"We're next—Willesden Green."

_I just hope that's all she's thinking, too._

* * *

Merlin groaned inwardly. _Of course all three flatmates just_ _had_ _to be in tonight._

"Well, Merlin," Gwaine said after Merlin made introductions all around, "I must say I'm impressed!" He turned to Morgana appreciatively. "You are _way_ out of his league."

"Actually," she said with a brilliant smile, eyes sparkling, "I think it's the other way 'round."

As Merlin tried to pick his jaw up off the floor, she took his arm and said sweetly, "So where are these paintings you were going to show me?"

He led her into the lounge, leaving his shocked flatmates sputtering in the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note:  
> For anyone who's not familiar with London, the National Gallery is located in Trafalgar Square...so Merlin made his sketch-gift to Morgana intentionally related to the second-date invitation and to the napkin-sketch of an evergreen tree from their first date.


End file.
